


Christmas in the Labyrinth

by KatLeePT



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6206134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatLeePT/pseuds/KatLeePT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah struggles to bring Christmas to the Labyrinth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas in the Labyrinth

"Hey, lady! Look at me!"

"Yeah! Look at us! Look at us!"

"This is so cool, man!"

"Come on; you should try it! You don't have to take off your head."

"The Queen doesn't like to take off her head."

"I know; I know! But you don't have to, lady. Just take off an ear and hang it over here!"

"Or a toe!"

"Or a finger!"

"Or your nose!"

Sarah blinks, finally managing to pull herself free from the shock that began to set in the moment she saw the Fieries. They had always been strange creatures, but surely even with all the bizarre inhabitants of the labyrinth, she had never seen anything more strange than the Christmas tree on which their heads are now hanging.

She shakes her own head and resists the urge to check her neck and make certain that it isn't trying to become detached from her body. "This isn't right," she murmurs, and then, louder, she repeats, "This isn't right!"

"We redo tree," the nearest Goblin offers.

Sarah nods fervently. "Make sure you do, and this time, no live ornaments."

"No live ornaments at all?"

"None."

"Then what we use?"

Sarah closes her eyes for a moment and mentally counts to ten. She's had this conversation at least that number of times with the Goblins already today. If she had ever stopped to consider how difficult it was going to be to teach them about her favorite holiday, she never would have attempted. "Ribbons," she answers at last, "yarn, anything bright and shiny -- "

"But the Fieries are bright and shiny!"

"Yeah, man! We cool orange!"

"Anything not <I>alive</I> that's bright and shiny," amends Sarah. She smiles as an idea occurs to her. "Get Sir Didymus to help you." The little Knight has a flair for fashion, but then Sarah frowns as she recalls his sense of smell. "Just don't let him get anything from the Bog of Eternal Stench anywhere <I>near</I> the tree," she emphasizes.

"Hogit said he could catch Fairies for us to use."

"Nothing alive," Sarah reminds them.

"They don't haveta be alive, do they?"

"Nah. Hogit shoots 'em pretty good."

"Their wings are pretty and shiny, too."

"We could just cut off their wings."

"Hogit do it for us. He no like Faeries."

"No!" Sarah exclaims, and every head in the grand hall swings to look at her. "No," she clears her throat and repeats again in a calmer voice. "Nothing alive."

"We could kill -- "

"Nothing alive. Nothing that has been alive. Nothing that has ever been a part of anything that has ever been alive."

The Goblins around her sigh. One of the nearest shakes his ears. "This harder 'n I thought."

Sarah releases a breath. "Yeah," she mutters, "you can say that again." Louder, she commands, "Now go find Sir Didymus and enlist his help." She stares at the Fieries for another moment. "And you lot, get off the tree."

"Aw, man!"

Their ears wriggle, and although they look like they're about to complain further, Sarah's glowering look which she has unconsciously picked up from their King silences their complaints. Bodies rise from around the tree's skirt and begin reaching blindly for their heads. Sarah sees something large and scaly scurry further underneath the skirt, opens her mouth to ask, and shuts it again before she can speak. Shaking her head yet again, the Queen decides she'd really rather not know at this moment and resumes her trek to the kitchen to check on preparations there.

The kitchen, she soon finds, is bustling with sounds and smells, not all of which are good. Chickens squawk, and other beasts make other noises. She steps to the side as a two-headed bird flaps pass her. One of the many Goblins to whom she gave the duty of helping the cook rushes after the bird, and she tries to ignore their struggle as she turns her back to them and faces the oven instead.

"How are we coming along with the meal for tonight?"

The lead Goblin sputters an array of words, only a few of which Sarah recognizes. Finally, she looks at her and spits out, "Fine, fine," before returning to her many, bubbling pots. Sarah frowns, not at all convinced that the meal is coming along fine in the slightest. She's seen the chef look that way before and knows that is her typical answer when she is trying to avoid the end of her husband's boot.

She starts to step closer, but one of the smaller, more dainty Goblins pops up by her side. "Queenie try this," the little, green beast offers, raising a wooden spoon with a pasty, white liquid on it.

Sarah quirks an eyebrow at the concoction. "What is it?" she asks.

"Eggnog drink, just like Queenie asked for."

The Goblin holds the spoon higher; Sarah daintily, carefully sniffs the concoction. She pulls her long, black hair up out of the way and sniffs it again. Finally, not having smelled anything particularly bad coming from the drink, Sarah accepts the spoon the Goblin is sticking at her and takes a careful, tiny sip. She immediately spews the drink and winces guiltily as she realizes that she has done something she's often scolded Jareth for and spat on a Goblin.

"I'm sorry," she immediately apologizes. "So, so sorry!"

"Hey!" the wet Goblin exclaims brightly. "I got Queenie's first spit!"

"I'm sorry -- "

"Lucky!"

"Hey, Queenie, spit on me!"

"Spit this way!"

"Spit here!"

Sarah pulls back, closes her eyes again, and once more counts to ten. The Goblins are all so strange, and she fears she may never become accustomed to their ways. She remembers hearing once, as a child, about a fictional race of people who considered it an honor for their King to spit on them, but she never would have believed that the Goblins would consider spittle an honor, even though Jareth had tried many times to convince her otherwise, until now.

Another bird screams, and Sarah's eyes pop open. She surveys the mess in the kitchen. There is so much wrong here, so many things she needs to correct, and so many little, green faces looking up at her for approval. She sighs. Perhaps she should have just made all the Christmas festivities herself, but it would have taken her forever to make a meal large enough for the entire kingdom to enjoy.

"Queenie not happy." She looks down at the Goblin nearest her, the one still holding the spoon and the awful thing she is mistakenly calling eggnog, and sees her eyes beginning to tear up. Her green, bottom lip trembles, and Sarah's heart reaches out to the little thing.

"I'm sorry, Sophie," she apologizes, kneeling down beside the tiny Goblin. Every one of the Goblin's birth names is unpronounceable to her human tongue, but Sarah has renamed them all with names as close to their real name as possible but names which she can pronounce.

"It really that bad?"

"It is pretty awful." Sarah nods with the truth.

Sophie wails and drops the bucket of eggnog and spoon onto the floor. "Sophie do nothing right!" she cries.

"Shush," Sarah speaks to her, touching her tiny, bony shoulders and bringing her closer to her. "It's not your fault, Sophie."

"Sophie screw up! Bad Sophie! Stupid Sophie!"

"You're not bad," Sarah tells her, "and you're not stupid, either." She raises her warty chin with one hand and makes her look at her. "It's not your fault."

"But Sophie make it! Sophie screw it up!"

"Who helped you, Sophie? Where did you get the ingredients from, and did you get everything on the list I gave you?"

"N-No." Sophie's chin trembles in Sarah's hand. "Couldn't find many things on list. Hogwart says they only up above ground, but we have other things here in labyrinth that we can use for subs-substi-substu- " Her little face screws up as she tries to say the word, and Sarah waits with forced patience. " -- in place of them," Sophie finally finishes.

"Hoggle was wrong," Sarah tells her. "We must have those ingredients. You tell him I said so and that he is to send some one above ground, if need be, to get them. We must have exactly what is on that list. No substitutes. Where is the list?"

"Hoglet has it."

"I'll make you a new one, but you be sure to tell him that I said we must have exactly what is on the list and in the number that I list it."

"Hoget will . . . "

"Hoggle will do nothing but what you tell him to. Tell him I said you're in charge, and if he doesn't like it, . . . " She thinks quickly and almost says that he can take the issue up with Jareth's boot, but she is determined not to be mean this Christmas. "If he doesn't like it, tell him I said Santa will bring him no plastic."

"No plastic?" The words are spoken with shock and great dismay behind her. "But . . . But I've waited all year!"

"Yes," Sarah agrees, turning to face Hoggle. "You have waited all year. We all have to celebrate this Christmas, and we're going to get it right this year. That includes getting the right ingredients and making the eggnog right. Do you still have the list, Hoggle?"

He searches in the many pockets on his vest for a moment before finding it in an inside pocket. He brings out the paper, and Sarah makes a face, before she can stop the impulse, at the sogging wet parchment. "I'll make a new one," she says, standing, "and you are to gather exactly what is on the list, and in the amount that I list it, and you are to listen to Sophie no matter what. She is in charge. Do you understand me?"

When he doesn't answer, she looks down and finds him glowering angrily at the little Goblin, who quivers before him. "Hoggle!" Sarah snaps. "Do you want the plastic or not?" she demands, but he is taken aback by the dark look on her delicate face that asks instead, <I>Do you want my husband's boot or not?</I>

"Yeah. Yeah. I'll get the grub."

Sarah walks over to a small desk in the far corner of the kitchen. She unrolls a fresh piece of parchment, dips a quill in ink, and quickly makes the list again. She walks back to Hoggle and slips in between him and Sophie. Sophie eyes the Dwarf nervously from around the edge of Sarah's full, red skirt. "Hoggle," Sarah snaps, her patience wearing thin, "I am not going to tell you again."

"She started it."

"I doubt that, and I am not going to argue -- "

"Indeed, the Queen is correct." A smooth, regal voice that will bear no argument cuts through the chaos in the kitchen like a knife sliding through butter. Hoggle gulps and hits his knees, as do several of the other Goblins. All cease their work instantaneously. "She will not argue with you, not with any of you, and will do exactly as she says with no complaints. Am I understood?"

"Y-Yes, Your Majesty," Hoggle quickly answers, and Sarah is unable to stop the smile that spreads over her lips from the way he is now trembling from head to toe.

"If she commands you to go to the above world to fetch ingredients, that is exactly what you will do. If she tells you to take your secondary orders from a Goblin, even a female one, you will do so. If she tells you to kiss your feet in the Bog of Eternal Stench, you will do that as well."

Hoggle slowly raises his face from the stone floor. "Sarah's never -- "

"Precisely." Jareth's smile sends shivers down every spine but his and Sarah's. "She has never told you so, because she is far too nice a Queen, far nicer than any of you deserve. Now get out of my sight and get to work."

"Yes, sir!" Hoggle runs as though his very life depends on his departure.

Jareth looks around at the remaining Goblins, who are all staring up at him. "Well?" He claps his gloved hands together once. "Return to your work, slaves. You all have your orders."

They scramble to get back to their tasks, and Jareth steps smoothly between the bodies running all around his and Sarah's feet. He reaches out, his elegant fingers brushing over the flesh of her neck, as he gathers her hair back together and sweeps it behind the collar of her white blouse. He smiles at her, and suddenly, Sarah no longer hears the bustle of the kitchen workers. She sees only him and hears only their hearts beating together as one. "Are you quite certain you want this responsibility, my Queen?" he asks softly as he magically whisks her from the kitchen.

"Yes," she answers without hesitation. She beams up at him. "I want you to experience a real Christmas, my husband."

His answering smile makes her heart flutter. He cares nothing for Christmas, at least not yet, but he does care about making her happy and loves it when she calls him her husband, even more so than when she calls him her King. "There is one of your human traditions," he admits, one hand cupping the side of her face and neck, "about which I must confess a certain curiosity."

"Which one?" she asks and knows he can hear her heart hammering in excitement.

His fingers slide over her flesh, his fingertips coiling in her silken strands as they massage the back of her earlobe. His eyes glisten with the knowledge of what he is doing to her as she almost sighs already. She is melting in his hands, melting against him, and she can feel how hard he is for her through the pants he wears so tightly.

His free hand makes a flourishing gesture, and Sarah realizes that they are in their bedroom, standing before their bed, as she follows the gesture of his hand to the sprigs of mistletoe he's magically hung above their bed. She smiles and starts to speak, but with only a thought from Jareth, their clothes vanish. Little bits of mistletoe hang on every inch of his magnificent, nude body. Sarah's breath takes in sharply, and this time, her heart does hammer like a drum.

He marches to that drum as he sways against her, pulling her as close against his length as a second skin. "You always kiss beneath the mistletoe, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Sarah breathes, cupping his face, running her fingers along his flesh, and leaning up to kiss his lips.

His tongue dives into her mouth; her tongue answers his thrust. He lays her across their bed as a waltz plays somewhere in their bedroom. Her legs wrap around his as he enters the sweetest home he's ever known. Her mouth lifts from his, and as she feels his imperial tongue on her breasts, she begins to move each piece of mistletoe and kiss beneath it. He moves inside her, diving deeper. She answers him with a gasp she silences by tenderly biting both his nipple and the leaf on top of it. No one here understands Christmas yet, but Sarah knows two things about the holiday now as surely as she knows she loves her King with all her heart and soul. By the time they are done, they will all understand Christmas, and this will also be the best, sweetest, most romantic, and most delicious Christmas she's ever had.

  
**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.


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